Embittered
by Savage Midnight
Summary: Three years after the events of season three, an orphaned Chloe is out for Lionel's blood. But when Chloe is reintroduced to an old friend, the son of the devil himself, her plans take on an irrevocable twist.
1. Missions and Meetings in Metropolis

Title: Embittered  
**Author: **Savage Midnight  
**Site: **See profile  
**Rating:** PG-13 (for swearing)  
**Disclaimer:** Smallville and all related elements belong to Tollin-Robbins Productions and Warner Bros. Currently I own David Aden and Helen Dalton.  
**Summary:** Set three years after the events of season three. In a moment of weakness, Chloe Sullivan's life was irrevocably destroyed when the young reporter accepted an offer from the devil himself. Now, three years later, an orphaned Chloe is out for blood. With the help of hacker-friend David Aden, she plans to bring down the very man who destroyed her life and murdered her father - Lionel Luthor. But when an embittered Chloe is reintroduced to an old friend, the son of the devil himself, things start to get complicated. Will Lex Luthor be a flaw in her plan or will he prove vital to Chloe's mission?  
**Authors Notes:** My first shot at a novel-length fic. Feedback definitely appreciated, especially the constructive kind. Huge thanks to my fantabulous beta, Aimee, for her help. This fic would seriously be lacking without her.

---

**Chapter One - Missions and Meetings in Metropolis**

There were some nights when Chloe Sullivan could not sleep at all. The screaming, gaping face of her father occasionally drove her from the unsatisfying warmth of her bed and pulled her here, to the graveyard.

Tonight was one of those nights. She stood with quiet awkwardness in front of the black marble headstone, feeling out of place as usual but not making any move to leave. These moments were her penance and her solace, and she held onto them with an iron fist, unwilling to let them go. She had sacrificed too much in the face of her cowardice; she refused to sacrifice these scarce, precious moments with her father.

She knelt and caressed the elegant scrawl of his name. Her eyes swept over the clear, gold lettering of the short epitaph that never seemed to serve much justice to a man who was more than just _a_ _loving father and devoted friend_. Her fingers trailed the memorised path of his name, fingertips stroking the soft curve of the G, the sharp dip of the A, the curl of the B, the--

--she broke, falling back into the wet mud, her fingers slipping from the headstone. She didn't cry. Instead she dug her hands into the dirt beside her, absently clawing tracks into the vibrant green grass. Her breath hitched and cracked into a muted sob. Her tears, which had yet to escape, dried in the harsh wind and left her dull eyes stinging.

She crawled along the grass, ignoring the mud that streaked her penguin-print pyjama bottoms, and draped herself over his headstone, resting her wind-kissed cheek against the cool marble. She pressed a light, fleeting kiss to the stone and closed her eyes to the lull of serenity that swept through the silence of the graveyard. Sorrow welled in her chest, but she welcomed it with a smile, because the tightness was a sign that she could still feel more than the simple, cold remoteness of grief. It was nice to know that after almost three years she was not emotionally deadened.

It didn't make her any happier, though. Not that happiness was her top priority, but she had expected to feel some sense of neared relief or closure. After all, it was almost over. She could taste the sweet bitterness of revenge on her tongue already and she hadn't even dealt her final blow yet. Soon, though. Soon.

"Not long now, Dad," she promised, rising from the ground with none of the awkwardness from moments before. She brushed absently at the mud clinging to her pyjamas and pulled her raincoat tighter around herself.

She looked younger than her twenty years, standing in the quiet darkness of the graveyard, clad in the pyjamas she refused to throw out because her father had bought them for her seventeenth birthday. Her hair was bunched up into a small ponytail, but some of the shorter strands of her blonde tresses had refused to stay put and were now fluttering wildly about her bare face. There was no make-up, no jewellery, none of the glamour that made Chloe Sullivan the adult she was forced to be. There was just the childlike twist of her lips and the large, wounded eyes that were masked by her lowered lashes.

Strange, how she was here because of her rush to grow up. While other teenagers had been off trailing the path to future dreams, she had wanted her dreams right then and there and she had made what she had once considered reasonable sacrifices to achieve them. In the end she hadn't grown up at all, and now here she was, a twenty-year-old child with a wisdom she should not have had to bear.

With one last look and an affectionate smile, Chloe turned away from the headstone and made her way back home. If she were anyone else she would have feared walking the streets on the bad side of Metropolis in the middle of the night, but two years of martial preparation and twenty years of intelligence had rewarded her with a mean right hook and a stun-gun in her purse. It might not do her a lot of good in the long run, she thought, but she was satisfied knowing that she at least had a fighting chance if anything were to happen.

Ten minutes later found her clambering a flight of stairs to her small, studio apartment. When Chloe had been in school, she had always dreamed of having a studio apartment, but her current residence had none of the flair and glamour that she had fantasized about back then. Instead it was one large room based on the second floor of a two-storey apartment, with a bathroom that she was forced to share with the residents downstairs. Luckily she had had Harry, her favourite handy-man, install a shower in the right-hand corner of the room, because the thought of sharing a shower with her "neighbours" had wigged her out no end when she had first moved here. She just hoped that her landlord wouldn't suddenly decide to pop round for a surprise visit and find that she had gone DIY on his ass. She had no doubt she would be out on her own if he did. Teddy didn't like people messing with his property.

With a heavy sigh Chloe shut the door behind her and shrugged out of her coat, throwing it absently on the armchair to her right. She headed for the kitchen, which dominated most of the left side of the studio, and clicked on the coffee-pot. She rinsed her mug under the faucet and splashed her already chilled face with cold water, blinking away the shock and turning to pour herself a coffee. With a healthy gulp of the hot, bitter liquid she moved over to her work area, which was concealed by a long, sliding door that stretched across the length of the back wall. It was locked with a simple combination lock, which opened easily as she spun the code into place. There was no point in a high-security lock because the door itself would only take a little battering before it buckled. That was why she made sure the information they found was secured elsewhere as well as here. The door simply served as a screen in case anyone came round for a surprise visit. Which wasn't often.

Removing the lock from the door she slid it across towards the right wall of the apartment, where it folded neatly into the crevice beside her closet. Several desks were revealed, which lined the length of the back wall. Each desk was packed with hi-tech machinery, flashing monitors, piles of newspapers, magazines, articles and post-its printed with valuable information. At the end lay a number of folders that were organized into neat, appropriate piles. The information in them was valuable and most people would have thought it stupid to leave such information out, but Chloe wasn't stupid. She had back-up. She _always_ had back-up nowadays. Every week any new information she or David discovered was downloaded onto discs. Those discs were then scattered across Metropolis, some of them locked away in deposit boxes, others hidden in locations nobody but her and David knew about. After a second brief encounter with the renowned Perry White she had taken his advice and left discs at four different banks in Metropolis, with the instruction that the discs were to be released to a number of sources in the event of her death. Whenever anything new was found, those discs were then updated or refreshed and the cycle went on, just like it had for the last two years.

And now, after months--_years_--of hard work, it was almost over. Just a few more months to fool-proof her plan and then everything would be ready.

Lionel Luthor was going to pay.

---

The black, cordless phone beside Chloe rang at exactly eight-thirty. She answered it on the first ring with a short, sharp, "Yeah?"

David answered with a loud grunt and Chloe faintly heard the sound of tapping in the background. "Why the fuck you insist on me ringing you at this ungodly hour is beyond me. Why can't we do the midnight rendezvous thing like everybody else?"

Chloe smirked into the phone. She was used to David's complaining. For the last two years he had spent most of his time grumbling that she was a slave-driver and that one day he would die of sleep deprivation alone. She knew it was complete bull. Before Chloe had met David he had been a full-time hacker and had spent twenty-three hours a day writing and selling viruses to an elite group of underground yuppies. Sleep wasn't in David's vocabulary.

They had met not long after Chloe had moved to Metropolis. Nine weeks into her mission one of her sources had contacted her about a well-known underground hacker who went by the name D-Hakey. At the time she had been attempting to track down a reliable source who could provide her with a virus deadly enough to temporarily shut down the LuthorCorp system and her search had eventually led her to David Aden, hacker-extraordinaire and former technician at LuthorCorp itself.

It was love at first sight. For David, anyway. The only thing Chloe had fallen in love with was David's equipment. At the time his hi-tech computer system had made hers look miserably pathetic and it had been David who had financed her own system; a system that had proved far more useful than her previous one.

Of course, things hadn't been as simple as that. As an underground hacker David suffered from trust issues. Chloe's own trust issues, which had been seriously impaired by a select number of "allies" in the past, didn't make things any easier and for the first three weeks they had exchanged nothing but money, illegal programmes and wary looks. Eventually a starry-eyed David had spilled the figurative beans and Chloe had responded in kind. They had been a team ever since. David had given up hacking full-time and now kept his clientele list short but financially pleasing. He spent most of his days helping Chloe and after two years she had grown pretty fond of him. Luckily for her he'd grown out of whatever infatuation he had had with her after she had politely informed him that nothing would or could ever happen between them. Her being an emotional wreck and all.

"Good morning, David," she said sweetly, rubbing the sleep from her clammy eyes and stepping out of her chair, coffee mug in hand.

"Fuck off."

"I think I liked it better when you were head over heels for me. I got bagels in the morning instead of abuse."

"You got bagels in the morning because you spent six weeks camped out in my lounge."

"Good point. Continue, soldier."

She heard him sigh over the phone and knew it was bad news.

"Nothing on this front. I've been following the leads you gave me, but half of them have been paid off and the other half are worried they'll be eating bullets if they talk."

"What about the girl? Dana Leigh? Did you get anything out of her?"

The phone was silent for a second and then she heard David's rough voice echo over the line. "She's dead."

Chloe exhaled slowly and ran a hand down her face. "Shit," she breathed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Dana Leigh had been their last lead to a story they'd been working on for over a year. A source from one of their earlier stories had accidentally left bread crumbs in their wake and that had led both she and David to an intriguing discovery that would undoubtedly bring Lionel to his knees. While the other information they had collected would serve to destroy LuthorCorp, this story would be the one to destroy Lionel Luthor himself. After this there was no chance of him rising from the ashes to seek his vengeance. And when it was done, when the eldest Luthor was finally driven to his knees, Chloe planned to finish him off permanently.

David, of course, didn't know that.

But right now the story was nothing more than bits and pieces; rumours and scattered facts that was slowly but surely building up. Gradually one source led to another and another and pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.

Dana Leigh had been the final piece and now her death would surely slow them down. But more than that was the revelation that someone was finally onto them. Someone knew about their little investigation and was doing their best to put a stop to it. Chloe knew that they would have to be more careful if they were going to see this thing through.

She only hoped they survived long enough.

"Where does that leave us?" she asked, pouring herself a coffee. She strode across the room towards the far-right wall of her studio, where her four-poster bed (her _only _luxury, bar her shower) stood against the wall. Her small closet stood to the left of it, a damaged chest of draws was snuggled in the groove opposite the right side of the bed and beside that her tiny shower stood proudly in a deep recess in the wall.

"With twenty-three families fearing for their own lives and three scientists shitting dollar signs," David said wearily. He was obviously as frustrated about their situation as she was.

She moved over to the chest of draws and opened the top one. She pulled out a fresh pair of underwear and threw them onto the bed behind her, moving next to her closet, which she flung open with two hands, leaving the phone clamped between her ear and her shoulder.

"How does he do it?" she declared tightly, moving the phone again to clutch it in one hand. "How does he get away with killing all these people without the authorities sniffing up his fuckin' ass crack?"

She picked out a charcoal grey skirt and matching jacket from her closet and bent down to dig out a creased, white blouse. She frowned at it in disapproval and muttered to herself, "I hate ironing."

"It's because the authorities are sniffing up his ass crack that he gets away with it. We are talking about Lionel Luthor here."

She sighed heavily and threw the clothes on her bed. "I don't give a shit if he's Lionel Luthor. He shouldn't be able to get away with murdering innocent people, God-complex or no. I swear, once this is over--"

"--we'll get him, Chloe," David cut in gently. The distant tapping of a keyboard ceased momentarily and for a long second there was nothing but static silence. Then, softly, he added, "I promise."

Chloe nodded subconsciously into the phone and ran a hand through her hair. "I know," she said. "But if we don't move fast, more people are going to die."

"I'm gonna try the Sanderson family. They're my best bet. Apparently Margaret Sanderson's son, Mark, knows something about his brother's death, but she won't let me speak to him." He paused. "They're afraid, Chloe. They know what'll happen if they talk."

"Then we better wrap this up before anything does happen."

"I'm working on it."

"Good."

"What about you?"

"I've got three bank appointments today and one on Tuesday. The discs need updating."

"Ring me when you're done and I'll let you know what I've got."

"Will do."

She hung up, dropping the phone onto the bed, and flopped back against the mattress. She rubbed at her eyes roughly with the heels of her hands, willing the overbearing fatigue and weariness to lift, if only for a few hours. She was not in the mood to be stepping out into the cold, harsh wind today, but she knew she had no choice. If the discs were not updated and the information was lost, they would be right back at square one again. It would take months for them to retrace their leads and recollect the evidence and meanwhile people would die, maybe even her. Their lives depended on those discs and Chloe wasn't willing to let another innocent die because she wasn't on the ball. Enough blood had already been spilled.

With a heavy heart Chloe reluctantly rose from the bed and headed for the shower.

---

The Central Bank of Metropolis was the last stop on her list and by now Chloe was reaching the point of exhaustion. She had barely salvaged three hours sleep last night before the nightmares had pulled her to the graveyard, and after spending two, repetitive hours in two different banks, she was starting to feel the effects.

Exhaling loudly outside the revolving, glass doors, she smoothed down her knee-length skirt and shifted the black bag on her shoulder. She stepped through into the hustle and bustle and moved towards the reception desk, where she informed a sombre looking secretary that she was due for a one-thirty appointment with Mrs. Dalton.

The secretary nodded and politely asked her to take a seat while he notified Mrs. Dalton she was here. She did so, glancing down at her watch as she settled herself into one of the low, leather armchairs in the centre of the lobby. She sighed tiredly as the long hand slipped to twenty-three minutes past.

At thirty-nine minutes past, Mrs. Dalton, a healthy looking woman in her early fifties, stepped through into the lobby and asked Chloe to follow her through to her office. She did so and found herself standing in a familiar, plush office, richly decorated and oozing elegance and class. She moved to sit down in one of the high-backed chairs opposite the manager's desk and settled her bag onto the polished, mahogany surface.

"Miss Sullivan," the older woman greeted, smiling widely at her from across her desk. "What can I do for you today?"

Chloe opened her bag and pulled out a simple, grey safety box about half an inch thick. She pushed it across the desk towards the woman. "Just the usual, please, Mrs. Dalton."

The manager nodded politely. "I don't know why I even bother with this formality crap," she said, shaking her head. "I think you know the routine better than I do."

Chloe laughed softly. She liked Mrs. Dalton. She had a sharp sense of humour and a deep dislike for pretence. She did not enjoy flaunting her prestige and she seemed the most comfortable when she was being blatant and honest. Chloe also knew that despite being in her early fifties and married, Mrs. Dalton was somewhat of a wild child. She knew this because Mrs. Dalton was an associate of David's; one who had helped him on occasion in regards to security and one he trusted. She had also done her own background check, because Chloe was especially careful when it came to the people she did business with. One could never be too sure exactly who was on Lionel Luthor's pay roll, and it would not do for those discs to fall into the wrong hands.

Mrs. Dalton picked the safety box up and rose from her chair. "Come on," she said, and Chloe followed her out of the office and down the same corridor she had been down numerous times before. She waited patiently, as she always did, while numerous doors were unlocked and locked. Finally Chloe was left alone in a small room that was lined with rows upon rows of safety deposit boxes, one of which she held two keys to in her right hand; one her own and the other, Mrs. Dalton's. For safety reasons Mrs. Dalton was supposed to be in here with her, using her own key while Chloe used hers, but after two years of visits, the manager no longer bothered. She knew there wasn't a lot of damage Chloe could do with two keys that only fit her own deposit box. 

She slipped each key into either side of deposit box number 236 and pulled out its contents; a safety box similar to the one cradled in her left hand, this one a shade darker than the other. She carried them both over to a small table in the centre of the room and placed them both side-by-side. Not bothering to sit down, she unlocked them and transferred the contents, returning the darker one to the deposit box after she was done. Satisfied, she stepped back out into the corridor where she found Mrs. Dalton dragging heavily on a cigarette.

The older woman grinned at her from around a cloud of smoke. "Only chance I get," she explained and took the proffered key from Chloe's hand. Chloe slipped her own key into her bag and turned to walk beside the manager.

"No change to your instructions, then, Miss Sullivan?" 

"Call me Chloe." They had known each other formally for nigh-on two years. It was about time they left the pretence behind.

"Helen," she said with a smile, pausing to dot out her cigarette against the rim of the garbage bin. She slipped the cigarette butt into her pocket. "So any changes, Chloe?"

"No," Chloe replied, "no changes."

Helen nodded. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you."

The manager strode past her office door and carried on towards another glass door that led towards to the bank lobby. She opened it and stepped aside so Chloe could pass through. Closing the door behind her she turned to face Chloe. "I'll be seeing you in a few months, then, Miss Sullivan."

Chloe smiled and nodded. She hoped so. "I'm sure you will, Mrs. Dalton. Bye for now."

She turned and crossed the large, marble lobby, heading towards the exit. Yawning loudly she pushed herself through the revolving glass doors and blanched visibly as the afternoon soon glared down at her. A buzzing pain hummed behind her eyes, signalling the beginnings of a headache and with an agitated grunt Chloe opened her bag and bent her head, searching the dark confines for her sunglasses. Six blind steps later found her colliding with a hard chest. She apologised absently, dug a little deeper and exclaimed loudly, "aha!", as she finally found them. She pulled out the black shades and slipped them on. "Bingo," she muttered to herself.

"Well done, Miss Sullivan," a smooth voice said, "I'm glad to see your investigative skills haven't diminished any since I last saw you. Although I must say, investigating the depths of your bag is a far cry from your earlier endeavours."

Chloe glanced up into the smiling face of Lex Luthor, who stood looking as smug and defiant as she remembered him to be. She blinked, momentarily lost for words. A split second later she offered him an aloof smile and greeted him with a curt, "Mr. Luthor."

He smiled insincerely. "Please, call me Lex."

Chloe nearly laughed at that. The simple comment reminded her of a time when innocence and naivety were respectable flaws, when she had voted loyalty over betrayal and when dreams hadn't taken precedence over family and friends. It was from a time when she had loved Clark Kent and not betrayed him, when Lionel Luthor had been a textbook villain and not the reason for the venom in her blood, and when Lex Luthor had been her father's boss and not her one-time benefactor. Such an innocent remark but it pulled something inside of her and she felt tears prick her eyes. Here was a man that had indirectly destroyed her, whether he was aware of it or not. After all, it was his father that had made her what she was today. A twenty-year-old orphan with a thirst for vengeance and a waning appetite for life. Lionel Luthor was to blame for the misery that was her life, though she knew, deep inside, that the blame was also her own. No one had forced to accept his offer. Yet it had been a genuine mistake on her part and one she had paid for over and over again. She knew that once this thing was over she would have sated her own guilt and shame, but the fact was that Lionel Luthor felt neither. Her father's death was a drop in the bucket to him, a single tear in an ocean wept by those that had dared to cross him, and nothing short of his death would be penance enough. And she was going to see to it personally that justice was served to Lionel Luthor, in the cruellest sense of the word.

Lex Luthor, however, was a different matter entirely. He had supported her financially when her father had died. He had paid for the funeral expenses when it was discovered that Chloe could in no way afford to pay for them herself, and he had provided her with a constant source of funds for the remaining month she had stayed in Smallville. It had been Lex's money that had helped her to escape the little hamlet and had set her up in Metropolis for a short while. It had run out eventually, of course, and Chloe had been forced to resort to other means to support herself. She shuddered at the memory.

But even though Lex had helped her, he was still his father's son. The devil incarnate. This was a man who had his destiny rammed down his throat every day of his life and soon enough the young Luthor would have no choice but to swallow it. It would surely choke him if he didn't. He had no emotional investments in the world--bar his wife, who Chloe guessed only served as yet another trophy on Lex's shelf--and was therefore not bound by obligation or loyalty. He had only but himself to worry about and Chloe knew it would remain so until there was no one left to prove otherwise. It was the way the Luthors worked and Chloe knew that better than anyone.

"Maybe you should save the formalities for when you truly mean them, Mr. Luthor," she said, agitated. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to do." She stepped past him, hand posed ready to flag down a cab, but a gentle, insistent hand wrapped itself around her arm and pulled her back from the curb. She turned her head and glared at Lex.

"What part of 'I have things to do' didn't you understand?" she sniped, pulling her arm from his grasp.

"Funnily enough," he said coldly, "I'm having difficulties comprehending your attitude. Have I done something to upset you, Miss Sullivan? That wasn't quite the welcome I was expecting."

She glanced up at him mock surprise, widened her eyes and gasped, "I'm sorry! Was I meant to bow? Kneel, maybe?" She paused and the feigned joy slipped from her features. Voice dripping with sarcasm she added, "Give me a warning in future and I'll be sure to curtsey next time you're in passing."

His jaw tightened and she stared in fascination as his lips drew together into a thin, white line. She ignored the sudden, sharp pang of regret that tightened her chest and instead watched solemnly as he retreated a step, withdrawing from her completely. His hands buried themselves in his pocket and he nodded.

"Fair enough, Miss Sullivan. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

He turned from her then and disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the Metropolitan streets. She watched him leave, head held high but her heart in her stomach.

I'm sorry, she wanted to say, but knew that it would mean nothing. She could not apologise for the boiling hatred that was her life now. She could not apologise for the venom that laced her words every time she spoke, because it was the only thing she had left. Bitterness, hatred, anger, and a little slice of compassion and love reserved only for her father, David and a select number of friends. Everyone else was neutral ground. Whether she hurt them or not she didn't care, because she did not have the capacity to. She refused to let others in for fear she would lose them, too, and she knew that their absence in her heart would only serve to encompass her. It had happened before and she was determined not to let it happen again.

But Lex had been kind to her once. He had supported her in the only way a Luthor could and although he had not been her proverbial rock, he had made things slightly easier. If it wasn't for him she would never have escaped Smallville and she guessed that she would still be working under Lionel's watchful eye.

She closed her eyes at the thought and pushed it aside. There was no time for what ifs. Chloe had to get home so she could ring David and check up on his progress. She hoped that he had gotten somewhere with the Sandersons, because without them they were completely screwed. Unless they could get one of the other families to talk, which was doubtful, the whole project depended on the Sanderson boy and whatever information he had.

Chloe hoped that David was having some luck. They were in desperate need of it. And she hoped that wherever Lex was, he would know that she was sorry, because as cold as she had been, she truly was.


	2. Friends Among Foe

****

Part II  
Chapter Two: Friends Among Foe

"Mrs. Sanderson, _please_, if Mark knows something about your son's death, I need to know. We can't bring Luthor down if we don't have anything to go on. I'm not asking for much. A name, a place, maybe. Just something we can work with."

David Aden leaned forward in his seat and gazed at the woman sat directly in front of him. "Please, Mrs. Sanderson," he said, "help us."

Margaret Sanderson, a graceful woman in her late forties, pursed her lips and shook her head. "I can't," she said, "none of us can. We'll be dead before morning." She paused to stare at him intensely and in a low, tight whisper she continued, "Do you understand me? He'll know. He _always_ knows. Look at what he did to that Dana Leigh. I can't let that happen. Mark's the only family I have left and I won't sacrifice another son to that heartless bastard. You're on your own, Mr. Aden, I'm sorry."

She rose from her place on the sofa and brushed a stray strand of greying hair behind her ears. She looked younger than her forty-odd years and David guessed it was the constant strain of fear that made the woman look so thin and vulnerable. She was edgy, chewing on her nails and playing with her hair like a young child. The news of Dana Leigh's death had obviously added to the stress; there were dark black circles marring her eyes and her pasty-white skin was pulled taut over her cheekbones.

Margaret Sanderson was living in fear that she would be next. Or even worse, her son.

David stared up at her sadly. He rose from the chair and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "We'll get him, Mrs. Sanderson," he said softly. "If you help us we can put him away for good. You wouldn't have to live like this, day in, day out. You wouldn't have to worry about finding your son dead in his bed or having to sleeping with one eye open just in case. Is that any kind of life for your son? Do you think he'll be happy knowing that every day might just be the day that he dies? Would you be happy knowing that?"

Margaret shook her head and sighed heavily. "Mr. Aden, you don't--"

"He's right, mom," a timid voice interrupted, causing the woman to spin sharply towards the doorway. David turned his head to see a young man stepping into the room. He was a lanky boy with deep black hair that was cut short at the sides, leaving ebony tendrils to fall into his green eyes. No older than eighteen David could only guess that this was Margaret's only remaining son, Mark Sanderson, the youngest brother of Daniel Sanderson, who had been a former lab technician at LuthorCorp. Daniel had died tragically in a lab explosion three years ago. Supposedly.

"This isn't any way to live," Mark said, pausing in front of his mother. He had only a few inches on his mother but Mark still managed to look intimidating, so fierce was his determination. "The only reason no one has ever brought Lionel Luthor down is because no one has had the guts to try. Nobody dares."

"Mark, please, don't--"

"--no!" Mark exclaimed, and suddenly he wasn't a small, timid boy but a grown man who was tired of looking over his shoulder all of the time. Like David had guessed, Mark could no longer cope with the thought that each day might be his last and now he was fighting back in the only way he could. He wanted to be heard and David was more than willing to listen.

"I am so goddamn tired of being afraid! I'm tired of being manipulated and intimidated and used just so that bastard can walk around killing anyone he likes. We can't live like this, mom; you know we can't. We have to do something or more people will die." Mark stared down at his mother and took her hand in one, firm grip. "Do you want that? Do you want more people to die?"

"No!" Margaret countered angrily, glaring up at her son. "I don't want more people to die! Why do you think I'm trying to keep us out of this, Mark? To protect you! To protect us." She stepped back away from him and shook her head. Her face was conflicted, pulled tight by anger and paled by her growing sadness and fatigue. She dropped down onto the sofa and rubbed at her forehead with her fingers. "God," she breathed, "I can't believe you actually think I don't care. That I don't give a shit if these people die." She paused and peered up at her son, gazing at him solemnly. Quietly she said, "I care. I care that this man has ruined countless lives, including our own. I care that people are dying because of what he's done. But I care more about you, Mark. If you say a word, you'll be dead before sunrise. You know that, don't you?"

David glanced at Mark and his respect for the boy was slammed up another notch as he watched him nodding gently. It took an immense amount of courage to sacrifice your own life for the sake of others, he knew. Mark's life depended on him and Chloe and even then it was still a risk. There was no guarantee that the information the boy had to offer would provide them with valuable leads. This was a gamble, a dangerous one, and David could only hope that they won. It would be a waste of precious lives if they didn't.

"I gave the house a once over when I first came here," David cut in, hoping to offer some consolation. "You're not bugged, from what I can tell, so unless Lionel somehow manages to get wind of this, I doubt he'll even know. If it helps any you could stay with me for the time being. I have a room to spare."

The boy smiled gratefully at David. He returned the smile with one of his own and then glanced at Margaret, who sat silent and still on the sofa.

"Mom?" Mark probed, settling himself down next to his mother. He curled a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. She looked up at him with sad, fearful eyes. "I have to do this.," he said. "We have to at least try, for Daniel's sake, and Dana's sake, and for all those others who have died because of Lionel Luthor. If I don't, if I--" He swallowed heavily and shook his head. "--I don't think I could live knowing I would die a coward. Daniel deserves more than that."

"This is no time to be playing hero, Mark!" Margaret exclaimed in a desperate, broken voice. "What good will it serve? None at all! You'll end up dead, like your brother, and I won't let that happen. I won't--"

"And I won't live like this. Not anymore," Mark said, effectively cutting her off. Margaret fell silent. "I have to do this. I'm _going_ to do this."

"Mark, please--"

"I'm sorry," he said, softly.

Margaret stared at her son for a long second and then shook her head. She swiped the glistening tears from her eyes and rose from the sofa. "You're going to do this no matter what I say, aren't you?"

Mark nodded. Margaret sighed and rubbed a tired hand down her face. "Okay," she whispered after a moment, and repeated, louder this time, "Okay." She lifted her head to gaze at her son with broken, resolved eyes, and in a tone that brooked no argument, she said, "But you promise me you'll do whatever Mr. Aden tells you to. If he tells you not to leave the house you don't decide to go visit your girl, you hear me? You do what he says, Mark, or by God I will beat you to a bloody pulp."

Mark nodded and smiled sadly. Then mother and son were embracing. Margaret curled her arms around him and pulled him tightly against her, resting her chin against his shoulder. He clung to her fiercely and David saw him inhale sharply, almost as if the boy was trying to savour the smell of his mother like it was the last time he would ever get to do so.

David's heart lay heavy in his stomach as he watched the pair separate. He took a few steps back, feeling almost intrusive as the two muttered quietly between them. He heard Mark ask his mother where she was going to stay, whether she was going to visit her stepbrother out of town or book herself into a hotel room. Margaret shook her head and told her son that she would be staying right here, so as not to rouse Lionel Luthor's suspicions. You can never be too careful, she explained, and went on to say that she would tell anyone who asked that Mark was visiting his father in New Zealand for Christmas and would not be back until the New Year.

Mark, obviously aware that his mother was not one to be swayed, simply stepped back and nodded gravely.

"Be careful," Mark said, "you know what Lionel's capable of."

"If there's any problems you can call me," David offered, slipping a pen out of his jeans pocket and kneeling down to scribble his number on a paper pad beside the phone. He handed the piece of paper to Margaret, who took it with a surprisingly steady hand. "Try and make sure no one gets that number or they'll be able to track me down. Mark, too."

Margaret smiled tentatively and folded the paper up. She slipped it into her bra and winked at her son. "No one'll be going down there anytime soon," she joked lightly, causing a bout of sad laughter to escape her son.

Then, with a small smile, Mark informed them that he was going to go pack and left the room. Silently David and Margaret listened to the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the stairs. When they grew quiet, Margaret turned towards him and regarded him solemnly. "You take care of my boy, Mr. Aden. If you don't, God forgive me, I'll beat you to a bloody pulp, too."

David smiled. He liked this woman. She had guts, just like Chloe. "I'll take care of him, Mrs. Sanderson, I promise. And call me David. Mr. Aden is my dad."

"And Mrs. Sanderson makes me sound old," she countered, and then frowned. "Although Margaret makes me sound older." She paused and shrugged, offering David an amused smile. "Maggie is fine. Makes me sound like a washcloth but what can you do?"

Her earlier fears were carefully concealed with good-natured humor and David found he admired this woman who had lost a son and was risking the possibility of losing another. He could see where Mark got his courage and wisdom.

Tone serious, he said, "I mean it, Maggie. Any problems and you call me, day or night. It's not just Mark who has to be careful here. You have to watch yourself, too."

"I've been watching myself for three years. I'm sure I can do it for a few more months."

David nodded, secretly hoping that Maggie Sanderson would not be a casualty in a war that was fast turning deadly.

---

Lex Luthor sighed heavily and settled himself down in his soft leather armchair. He lifted his brandy glass and downed the contents in one, deep swallow. He twirled the small stem of the glass between his fingers, gazing at the marble floor of his study absently.

They needed a carpet in here. He was sick of cold, stony floors and cold, stony walls. He'd had enough of them at the Manor in Smallville and now, here he was, back in Metropolis, his home, staring at the same marble pattern that he always did. He found simple things like this fascinating nowadays. He didn't know why. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was the fact that Lex now had everything he'd ever really wanted and now he was left with nothing else to do with his time.

He was back in power again. LexCorp was up and running once more and this time his father had reluctantly admitted defeat (though not vocally) and left Lex to his own devices. After all, the eldest Luthor still had his own business to run, which was doing infinitely better than LexCorp was. Not that Lex cared. He was still the second most successful businessman in Metropolis, still the second most richest. He was pretty proud of the fact that he was doing so well after such a short time.

His priorities had changed slightly over the last few years and Lex was no longer concerned with trying to constantly overthrow his father. There was no point in wasting his energy. It wouldn't be long before his father was too old to run the business anyway. Maybe if he was lucky someone would take him out before that. Again, Lex didn't care. Either way LuthorCorp would be his, whether Lionel handed over the reigns of his own free will or whether they were pried from his cold, dead hands by the playboy himself.

So, after two and a half years, LexCorp was running smoothly. In fact, too smoothly. Lex could run the blooming business with his eyes closed most days and it bored him. His job was no longer invigorating, no longer exciting. While his father had undoubtedly found his thrill in manipulating people, in using them, Lex did not. He ran an honest business, or as honest as he tried to make it, because he'd seen how his father's shady business deals and back-story projects had made his life intensely complicated. Lionel had a lot of enemies and though he did not show it, Lex knew it made his father wary. He knew that one day his own malicious nature would come back to bite him on the ass. Yet Lionel never bothered to rectify his actions and instead made a habit of digging himself deeper. Not that Lex really cared, but he'd decided long ago not to make the same mistakes as his father. He was perfectly content as he was without the illegal dealings and unethical experiments making his life more complicated.

Not that was Lex was squeaky clean. Far from it. After all, a little bribery and blackmail never hurt anyone. Unlike his father, however, Lex didn't simply use people because he could. There was always a logical reason behind his actions (or an ulterior motive, some might say). He was not a bastard for the sake of being a bastard, but because in this day and age only a fool as powerful and as rich as him would leave themselves wide open to the selfish and the greedy. There was always someone out there who was stupid enough to think that they could use him. It happened and sometimes Lex was forced to take certain measures to keep people at arm's length and his reputation intact. He was, after all, still a Luthor. A very bored Luthor.

He should have been happy. He had everything he wanted. A successful business, a beautiful wife and the respect he had worked so hard to earn; respect from the people who no longer saw him as Lionel Luthor's son, but Lex Luthor, a man who had fought his destiny every step of the way and won.

So why did he feel so... _flat_? Life had become so routine, so bland, so _dull_. He saw the same people everyday, ate the same food at the same time, slept the same number of hours each night, wasted the same amount of fuckin' time in his damn office. Had this been enough for his father? Had these same routines done nothing to diminish the eldest Luthor's thirst for success? Or was this repetitive lifestyle the reason why Lionel had invested so much time and money into his secret projects and experiments? Was it to pass the time? To add intrigue and excitement to an otherwise dull life?

Lex didn't know, but he prayed that this was not a sign that he would shortly be following in his father's footsteps, if only to sate the boredom for a short while. He was determined not to fall foul to the traps that Fate constantly set him. He'd be damned if he got this far just to give up the humanity he'd been fighting to regain for so long. He'd sooner die before he did.

Tiredly, Lex rose from his chair and settled his glass down on the table beside him. He left his study to wander the mansion that he felt did not quite belong in Metropolis, with it's stone walls and carved marble. Metropolis was too sleek and modern for a home like this and if Lex were honest with himself, he was too sleek and modern for a home like this, too. But his wife had insisted that they moved here. She said it reminded her of the Manor back home, where they'd spent most of their time together. It had been there that a romance had bloomed between the pair and it seemed that his wife had wanted to capture the same excitement and exuberance in these walls.

It had lasted a short while but it wasn't long into their marriage before the shine had worn off. Resigned to the fact that he would never find someone he could truly be happy with, Lex hadn't bothered to break the marriage off. And his wife, still so young, still so naive, refused to accept that their marriage was dying. Ever the optimist her faith in their relationship had never wavered even though he knew she did not love him. His wife held the strange belief that their marriage would take time and hard work, and she was sadly determined that they would see this through, that one day they would fall into a comfortable sort of love that would be enough for the both of them.

Lex knew it would never happen but he allowed her to indulge in her misguided delusions, if only to keep her happy. Because though Lex did not love his wife, he cared for her. There lay a mutual respect between them that had existed even before their friendship had evolved and that had never truly diminished. He admired her for her determination and for the unshakeable faith she had him, despite the fact that most girls her age, with her innocence, would have buckled under the pressure of being Lex Luthor's wife. Her trust in him remained steadfast, even during those dark moments when he would so cruelly make it obvious that he did not love her, and for that he would always be grateful to her. Grateful for her affection and her respect and her devotion, none of which he deserved. Because he had known what kind of life she would be taking on when she married him. He had known he would be stealing a heavy slice of her innocence when she did, yet he had still allowed her to ! make such a mistake. He had allowed her to become Mrs. Luthor number three and sometimes, on days like this, he found it difficult to forgive himself. On days like this he could not bear to look his wife in the eyes.

But today he would have to. He had received an invitation this morning, requesting his presence as the guest of honour at the Metropolis Charity Ball that they were throwing in order to finance the new hospital that was opening. The last one had been half-demolished after a helicopter had crashed into it, destroying three floors and killing over two hundred people. Unfortunately it hadn't been his father's helicopter but Lex had still donated a large amount towards the charity, knowing full well that it would serve to further his business and his reputation. Today he'd even made the effort to visit the bank personally in an attempt to kill the boredom for a few, short hours.

It was there that he'd run into Chloe Sullivan, someone he had been briefly acquainted with during his Smallville days. Her father, Gabe Sullivan, had once worked for him at the plant, and after the manager had died tragically in a car accident, Lex had helped finance the man's funeral expenses. An orphaned Chloe hadn't been left with enough to pay for it herself after it was found that Gabe had left no will. She'd had no money to support herself or Lana, either, so Lex had made sure she and Lana had enough to live comfortably on until the authorities found somewhere for Chloe to live and Lana was able to find alternative living arrangements. From what Lex knew they had attempted to track Chloe's mother down but she hadn't wanted to know and it was said that Chloe would have no choice but to be moved to a foster home.

It was probably why she decided to run, he thought. Chloe had wiped out her bank account, the one he had filled generously, and fled, leaving behind her friends who had grown predictably concerned when she did not return. He remembered Clark and his friends trying to track her down once but Chloe had obviously known that they would be looking for her and had made sure she'd kept herself well hidden. He had to admit, he had been impressed by her actions. He hadn't bothered to track her down himself, even though he knew he could easily have done so, because he had known then that bringing her back would have done her no good. The authorities were guaranteed to have gotten a hold of her and from then on it would have been nothing but constant shifts from foster home to foster home. Lex had thought it only fair that he gave her a chance to stand on her own two feet. She was, after all, a resilient girl. He'd always known that and today he'd been proven right.

Chloe Sullivan had definitely landed on her feet, but he couldn't say for sure that she'd come out of this unscathed. The girl was obviously still bitter and maybe a little angry and Lex had been mildly hurt by her biting remark. Still, he supposed he'd deserved it. He was, after all, a reminder of a time when her only concerns had been The Torch, Clark and becoming the best damn reporter she could be.

Speaking of which, he wondered how that was working out for her. As far as he knew she was not yet working for the Daily Planet. He was sure that he would have noticed her name at some point. In fact, he hadn't seen her name on any top-selling newspapers. So what was the young Miss Sullivan up to nowadays? He debated over whether or not to check up on her, see what she was doing with her life. It would certainly stem the boredom for a short while, if nothing else.

Yes, he thought. After dinner he would do a little investigating and find out what Chloe Sullivan had been up to these last three years. He was certain it would make for an interesting read.

But first, he had to speak to his wife.

---

They'd decided to meet back at Chloe's apartment for a quick briefing regarding the Sanderson situation, after they'd both agreed that divulging information about their new source over the phone would not be the wisest idea. "I'm not taking any risks with this," David had said, which was why the three of them were now seated around Chloe's poor excuse for a breakfast bar.

Silently, nursing a cup of steaming coffee, she studied the two men before her; David, with his cropped, blonde hair and hazel eyes, and Mark, with his contrasting oil black hair and green eyes. It was hard to believe that David had seven years on Mark. At twenty-five the hacker had the same boyish features he'd had when she'd first met him, almost three years ago.

It still amazed her how much he'd actually achieved in such a short time. Already David had worked for Lionel Luthor himself, as a lab technician at LuthorCorp here in Metropolis. He'd stepped down from the position after only two, short years, finding the work too boring and too repetitive, and already well-known among certain underground circles for his creatively-written viruses, it didn't take long for a then twenty-one-year-old David to make a name for himself. He'd built himself a legendary reputation in less than a year and nowadays everybody had heard of D-Hakey. He was famous for crashing numerous government systems, including the entire police database system for Metropolis, and several important business corporations, LuthorCorp not included. Yet.

David had also been married. Once. At the sweet age of nineteen he'd gotten hitched to his high school sweetheart, eighteen-year-old Sarah Parker, who, much to her parents dismay, had fled her home to follow David here, to Metropolis. Five months later she left him for her college tutor and he never saw her again. Since then he'd only allowed two other women into his life. One, an exotic Asian woman called Mae-Li, a notorious hacker and resident crime lord, who he'd spent just over two years with. They'd parted on good terms and they were still good friends today. Chloe had met her a few times when Mae-Lei (who preferred to be called Mae by her friends) had offered to help Chloe in whatever way she could. Unfortunately Mae ran her own underground business on the outskirts of Metropolis and was not available twenty-four-seven like David was. But the woman was nice enough. She was sophisticated and powerful, with a vulgar sense of humor that was to blame for the first smiles Chloe had cracked since her father had died.

The second woman in David's life was, of course, herself. He'd once claimed that he was in love with her and Chloe had believed him, but after she'd made it perfectly clear that she did not love him in that way, he'd learned to accept her decision. His attraction towards her had been intense and short-lived and since then they'd never had any problems. David slept around. Chloe didn't. Chloe liked the girls he slept with. David didn't. Not for long, anyway. She found it strange that she was never angry at her friend for breaking countless hearts, but Chloe knew that was just the way David was and he wouldn't change. Despite being perfectly capable of falling in love, he didn't do it often, but occasionally women fell in love with him. The result? Chloe was often lumbered with numerous girls that she actually liked enough not to turn away. They always found a friend in the one girl who had yet to capture David's heart, but while they believed that he just hadn't worked his way ! around to Chloe yet, it was actually because the two had built a comfortable friendship that they were both happy with. Their friendship was evidence that it was possible for a guy - even a guy like David - to be friends with a woman and not want to sleep with her. They'd already gotten past that part of their relationship and they'd come out better friends because of it.

Every day Chloe thanked the heavens that she had David by her side. Sometimes she could not bear thinking about what her life would be like without him.

She supposed that had they met at a different time in her life, under different circumstances, she would have found David attractive. When she'd first met him he'd reminded her of a blonde version of Clark, with his baby features and exceptional smile. But were as Clark was heavily muscled with shaggy, dark locks, David was thinner and well-built, with short, dusty-blonde hair cut short and spiked. While Clark was all marble and steel, David was charcoal and silk; rough around the edges but exceptionally gentle when he needed to be.

The two shared the same strong jaw line, though, she had to give them that, and had things been different Chloe would have fallen for David hook, line and sinker. But as it was now they'd long since passed that point and now they were both comfortable in the knowledge that while neither of them would throw the other out of bed, they did not need fireworks to kindle their affection for one another. That managed to feed itself.

Taking a deep gulp of her coffee, Chloe shifted her gaze to their guest, Mark Sanderson, who was sitting directly opposite her, nervously shifting about on his stool as he talked quietly with David. While Chloe had found it hard to believe that David was in fact seven years older than the boy, she found it even more difficult to believe that she herself was only two years older than Mark.

She'd been a different person at his age. Angry, bitter and too wise for her years. Her heart had been in constant conflict with her mind, one trying hard to keep up with the other, while she had been forced to cope with growing up too fast and failing at it miserably. Chloe never knew from one day to the next whether she felt too young or too old to live a normal life but after awhile she'd just given up even thinking about it. She had more important things to do with her time, like avenging her father's death and serving justice to a man that had gotten away with murder far too many times.

It was no secret that Chloe hated Lionel Luthor, but where others had had their hatred manipulated into fear, Lionel had been foolish enough to overlook one slip of a girl who would soon prove to be his most deadliest enemy. The heartless bastard wouldn't even see her coming and she was going to savour every second of his demise. She had no doubt that Lionel's death would be a welcomed tragedy.

She took another gulp of her coffee and then tapped on the breakfast bar lightly to catch the two men's attention.

"Guys," she cut in. "As much fun as it is listening to you two conversing all day, we have work to do."

"Sorry," Mark mumbled, offering Chloe a sheepish smile.

She returned it with a gentle smile of her own, hoping to put the nervous boy at ease. "S'okay, but we need to figure out how we're going to keep Lionel's people off our backs for a while. They've already caught onto what we're doing--we don't want to draw more attention to ourselves."

"Mark's staying with me for the time being. Once we've followed up any fresh leads we should have enough information to keep him safe. Lionel won't touch him if he knows the evidence has shifted hands. He won't know who to kill."

"Unless he does to Mark what he did to Dana," Chloe countered. "You know how Lionel loves to remind us of what he's capable of. He might think a couple of dead bodies will warn us off."

"And will it?"

Chloe and David both looked up at Mark, who sat ramrod straight and still on his stool, his face ashen white and his green eyes wide.

"Shit," she said. "Mark, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." She gazed apologetically at the teenager. "Me and David, we're gonna do our best to make sure something like that doesn't happen again."

"But it could happen, couldn't it," the young boy stated quietly. "There's a chance Lionel might find out. A chance I might die if--"

"We won't let that happen," David interrupted, his voice both determined and protective.

Chloe smiled gratefully at David. Covering Mark's hand with her own, she said, "Look, Mark, if you don't want to do this, we'll understand. We don't expect you to risk your life for something that could go horribly wrong at any time. You're taking a lot on faith here and I respect that, but we wouldn't think any less of you if decided to turn around now and go home. This is a lot to ask anyone, never mind someone as young as you and to be honest with you, if I were in your shoes, I probably wouldn't even be here right now." She paused and leaned forward across the breakfast bar. "You're free to leave anytime you want to, Mark," she said. "We won't stop you."

The teenager stared across at her solemnly, his deep black hair a sickly contrast against his pale skin and bright eyes. Chloe suddenly felt extremely sorry for the boy in front of her; a boy who had not asked to be a part of this world; a boy who had lost his brother and his freedom because of one, compassionless man. She knew they were asking a lot of him and she also knew, deep down, that there was a chance he would die for the sake of their mission. Chloe tried to shove the thought aside but it was hard to bury it when even the boy in front of her knew exactly what might happen.

More blood spilled, Chloe thought. All because of me. All for vengeance.

"If I don't help you, more people will die, won't they?" Mark asked, gazing at her sadly.

Chloe guessed that he already knew the answer but still she nodded. "Yes," she whispered, "they will."

Mark mimicked the action and pulled his hand from beneath her own. He stepped down from his stool to pace the expanse of the small kitchen. Chloe and David watched him sadly, both sorry for the hell they had put this boy through. If he chose to help them, Chloe thought, things were going to get even worse. Things were going to turn deadly.

The teenager paused for a second and turned towards the coffee machine, where he poured himself a large mug. He downed half the contents in one swallow and then turned to look at them.

"Okay," he said finally, "what do you want to know?"


	3. Settling In and Settling Down

****

Part I  
Chapter Three: Settling In and Settling Down

Note: Readers should be aware that my original character David Aden is loosely based on an existing character from Dark Angel called Alec. Fans of Dark Angel will know that Alec was played by the fabulous Jensen Ackles back in the days. Fans of Smallville will know that Jensen Ackles is currently playing Jason Teague on the show.

I just want to let readers know that I created the character David Aden (with Jensen Ackles in mind) long before anyone knew he would be starring in Smallville. While I hope that readers will be able to easily distinguish David Aden from the character Jason Teague, I don't want there to be any confusion. The character David Aden is in no way related to the televised show, but is my own creation. Jason Teague also has absolutely nothing to do with this fic.

Thank you.

Lana Lang stared down at the account books in front of her in mild irritation. Forehead resting against her hand she exhaled loudly and reached out for the small calculator beside her. Agitated, she punched in a complex sum, pen flickering wildly in her right hand as she did so, and finding the final answer unsatisfactory, she slammed the pen down and leaned back in her chair.

The world hated her today. She was sure of it. Not only did the account books not add up, but her planning permission for the new coffee house she wanted to open outside the centre of Metropolis had been delayed and Lana had been informed that she would not be able to start building for a few more months. On top of that her birthday plans were falling to pieces. Nell had phoned to let her know that she would not be attending her twenty-first birthday party. Nell's husband had booked them a surprise cruise for their anniversary and because it was the only time Dean could get time off work, she'd felt it was unfair to cancel on her husband. Nell had apologised profusely, claiming that she would make it up to Lana when she got home, but by then Lana hadn't really cared. A few hours earlier she'd been politely informed by her father, Henry Small, that he would not be attending her birthday, just as he never did. Henry disliked Lana's husband (guilty by association, as he put it), always had, and her twenty-first birthday was not about to change anything. They'd have their own separate celebration, just like they always did, and Lana would have no choice but to be satisfied with the small amount of time they would be spending together. After all, it didn't happen very often.

But the fact was that Lana missed her family and her friends. Though she never spent a huge amount of time with Henry anyway, due to the fact that his wife, Jennifer, often felt threatened by their relationship, she still missed him. He was more involved in her life than he had been back in Smallville, but most of the time Henry refused to acknowledge that Lana had a life past their relationship. He wasn't necessarily ignorant of it. It was more that he did not like to discuss it. He disliked her husband, her home, her business. The times that Henry drove the three-hour journey to Metropolis to see her, they talked about everything but her husband, her home and her business.

Nell, on the other hand, talked about nothing but. She'd been over the moon when Lana had married and she'd been even more ecstatic when she'd learned of her moving to Metropolis. Once Lana had had time to get used to married life, she and Nell had been inseparable, until Lana had ventured into the business world once again, opening numerous coffee shops around Metropolis, each one a mimic of the original Talon. Life had been hectic for a while then. Finding married life a little more laidback than she'd expected, Lana had desperately needed something to fulfill her time. She'd needed something to do.

It had been Nell's suggestion that she re-open the Talon here, in Metropolis. With more than enough money to do so, Lana had done just that and things had gotten better from there. Surprisingly, even in a large, industrial city like Metropolis, the small, intimate coffee shop had done exceedingly well. By then Lana had found the feeling of excitement and exhilaration of owning her own, successful business in a big city addictive and was permanently hooked. It hadn't been like that in Smallville. The Talon had been a struggle to run then, and Lana had been under constant pressure to keep it above water. After all, it had been established in a small town with a small population, the majority of which were unconcerned with a coffee shop that had been, more often than not, overrun with youngsters. So after her second venture into the business world had proved a little more successful and a little less work on her part, she'd become hooked. Two more coffee shops had followed and now Lana was working on her fourth.

Well, she would have been if her planning permission hadn't been delayed. That was one more thing for her to worry about, another problem in her already hectic life. It was a problem she didn't need right now, not with her birthday fast approaching, but there wasn't a lot she could really do about it. She refused to throw money at the problem like her husband often did, because Lana actually liked knowing that she had to work for things. She enjoyed the buzz she got at the end of it all, because she knew then that her business success was nothing to do with money and prestige, and more to do with her own hard work. And she was incredibly proud of that achievement.

In fact, if Lana were perfectly honest with herself she would admit that her life wasn't all that bad. Overall Lana was quite content with her comfortable, easy life. She was just having a bad day today. She was only in a foul mood because it had been so long since she'd seen any of her friends and family. With the business keeping her busy she and Nell had spent less and less time together and she'd had fewer opportunities to travel to Smallville to visit her father and her friends. Both Clark and Pete still lived in Smallville, where they attended Smallville Community College. Lana met up with them every chance she got and on occasion her husband would tag along, too. Sometimes they even went for dinner at the Kents.

But it had been a while since she'd done any of those things. She hadn't seen Clark or Pete in months and it'd been a few weeks since she'd had the chance to see Nell. She just hoped that her friends wouldn't cancel on her like her aunt and her father had. If she couldn't have her family at her twenty-first she at least wanted her closest friends there.

Lana sighed and rubbed at her eyes tiredly. She heard the door click open behind her but she didn't bother to turn round. She knew who it was.

"I don't know why you insist on doing the books yourself," Lex's voice came from behind her. "That's what accountants are for."

Lana rose from her chair and turned to face her husband. She smiled gently. "I like doing the books myself, Lex. You know I do." It made her feel like she was actually a part of the business instead of just its owner. While she never had time to run the shops herself, she always made it her priority to be personally involved in the running of the Talon. She liked having a say.

Lex smiled back, hands buried in the pockets of his light grey slacks. They looked every bit the married couple with Lana standing opposite him in a light grey trouser suit. Numerous people often commented on what a perfect match they made; worldwide magazines and newspapers constantly preached about what a beautiful couple they were. They'd been voted Most Beautiful Couple and Best Matched Celebrity Couple two years in a row and secretly Lana enjoyed the attention they attracted. Because the media were right. They did make a beautiful couple. Appearance wise, anyway. Behind closed doors things weren't as beautiful or as perfect as she'd first thought they'd be, but Lana had learned to accept the fact. She was sure that given time their problems would work themselves out. They were, after all, still young. The attention they attracted served to keep her faith intact, because if their friends and the public both believed they had chemistry, then surely they did? Maybe once they had both settled things on the business front for a while they would have more time for each other. Then they could begin investing more energy into their marriage. She was certain that was all they needed to do.

"We've been formally invited to attend the Metropolis Charity Ball next Friday night," Lex finally said. "In other words they want me to play guest of honour; flash my money and my wife, and then go home." Lex smiled knowingly to himself. "I thought it only fair that I forewarn you."

"Well, I appreciate the warning," she said, smiling lightly and tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. "I'll need to ring Marie and let her know we can't make it to dinner."

Lex frowned and then breathed, "Shit," quietly, causing Lana to frown. Lately he'd taken to swearing, though he did not use such language often. Still, it bothered her a little.

"I forgot we were having dinner with the Davidsons Friday."

"I'm sure they won't mind. They know business comes first, Lex. Marie's husband will tell you that herself."

Lex nodded, but the sombre expression darkening his features never lifted. It was a look Lana had been seeing a lot lately and more than once she'd been tempted to ask him what was wrong. But she knew he would not confide in her. He would not tell her if something was bothering him, no matter how many times she asked. Maybe a few years ago he might have, when their relationship was still new and exciting and simple, but things were different now and Lex made it his job to keep himself to himself. It was a lesson he'd learned from his father and though Lex liked to pretend he was nothing like his sire, she would occasionally catch glimpses of Lionel in her husband.

Luckily Lex was not his father's son in most senses and Lana prayed that he never would be. While he'd undoubtedly inherited Lionel's business acumen, his intelligence and his need for emotional distance, he was still very much his own person. Even though Lana occasionally caught glimpses of Lionel in Lex, she also caught glimpses of his own, individual traits. For one, Lionel remained constantly and frustratingly apathetic in every aspect of his life while Lex did not. Most of the time, anyway. Despite his reluctance to get close to people, Lex was still considerate of their feelings. He looked after the people he cared about, like Clark and the Kents. He'd even taken care of Chloe when her father had died, and he'd offered Lana a place to live when Chloe had fled, leaving her homeless.

Lex was deeply loyal to his friends, although on occasion he slipped and made mistakes. During their first few months together he'd told her about his investigation into Clark's past and the reasons behind it. She'd been angry at first, but then he'd explained to her that after his return from the island he'd dropped the investigation, no longer plagued by the constant need for answers. His priorities had changed since he'd spent three months on that island, he'd told her, and Lana had guessed that it had also had something to do with his previous wife's death. Lex had never told her exactly what had happened to Helen Bryce but she did know that the young doctor had died tragically, leaving Lex distraught and irrevocably changed.

Nowadays he remained steadfastly devoted to his friends, though they were few and far between. He protected them, supported them and made sure they lived easy, comfortable lives. The Kents had long since accepted him as a permanent fixture in their family and in their home and occasionally Lana would admit to herself that she was slightly jealous of Lex's closeness with Clark and the Kents. She and Clark had broken up just after his three-month disappearance almost three years ago and for months after that it had frustrated her that Clark would not let her in, that he would not trust her completely with his secrets. She wasn't sure if Lex had ever been privy to Clark's secrets but she knew that the two men shared a closeness that she and Clark never had or ever would. They trusted each other explicitly and after three, long years of having to prove himself to the Kents, they had finally learned to trust him, too. And because of this the couple were al! ways invited to stay with the Kents' whenever they visited (Lionel had reacquired the mansion when Lex had moved back to Metropolis. Purely to piss Lex off, of course.).

During these times Lana would learn to push aside her jealously in favour of her friends. She would enjoy their company for the short time they stayed there, for her sake as well as Lex's. He very rarely took a break from his work, especially since LexCorp was still in its early years despite doing so well, so whenever Lex had the chance to step back and take a breather, he did so in Smallville. Though Lex had never truly belonged in the small town, he seemed most at home there and Lana was not one to deny him of the few pleasures he had in life. Filthy rich he may have been, but her husband still enjoyed the simple things in life, as did she.

They'd chosen to move to Metropolis for a number of reasons. One, the town had not been very accepting of her and Lex's relationship. Many of the citizens had made it perfectly clear what they thought of the young billionaire. They did not like the fact that he was shacking up with an eighteen-year-old girl (though she'd originally been seventeen when she'd moved in with Lex). And not just any girl; Lana Lang, local sweetheart and town innocent. According to the community of Smallville, Lex was nothing but a big, bad wolf, out to destroy a perfectly naive, innocent young girl. She and Lex had known differently, of course, but eventually they'd grown tired of the hostility. They wanted nothing more than a quiet, peaceful life, so they'd both agreed that it would be best to move to Metropolis. It wasn't exactly the ideal place for a quiet, peaceful life, they knew, but at least there they wouldn't be criticised for their relationship.

In the end it had turned out that their relationship was, in fact, not criticised, but worshipped. People adored them; the bright-eyed, innocent sweetheart and the handsome, respectable billionaire, joined together by tragedy and a smidgen of heartache. A homeless teenager, rescued by the likes of a rich and generous playboy. It was a modern-day fairytale and the public ate it up.

Lana just found it funny. The media never bothered to mention that she'd known Lex long before she'd found herself homeless and without a guardian. They also never bothered to mention that at the time Lex had also been taking care of her surrogate sister, Chloe Sullivan, when her father and Lana's guardian, Gabe, had died. They didn't mention it because the public wasn't interested in those little tidbits. All the media were interested in were Lex-and-Lana, the fairytale couple. The marriage that everyone dreamt about.

If only they knew.

The other reason they had chosen to move to Metropolis was because Lex had started to get restless. Tired of working under his father's hand he'd been desperate to start his own business again, to re-open LexCorp, this time in Metropolis where it was likely to be more successful, both economically and financially. He'd also known that moving the business to Metropolis would have reduced the chances of him being overthrown by his father. After all, Lionel had not owned any banks in the city like he had in Smallville, and would therefore have been unable to threaten or manipulate any of the board members by fiddling with their loans and their investments.

So, with nothing really keeping the pair in Smallville (bar Lana's friend, whom she'd been reluctant to leave), they had decided it would be their best bet to move to Metropolis. Lana had also been tempted by the idea that she would be nearer to Nell and at the time she'd found herself missing her aunt more than she'd thought she would.

A month later they were married in Smallville's only church and afterwards they finally made their move. And here they were, two and a half years later.

"How about we eat out for dinner today?" Lex suddenly said. "I'm tired of eating here."

Lana shook her head. She wasn't in the mood for raving fans and flashing cameras today. She just wanted a peaceful afternoon. "I can't. I need to finish these books by the morning. I need to ring my lawyer, too, find out what's going on with the planning permission for the new coffee shop." She gazed at her husband apologetically. "Rain check?"

Lex simply nodded. "I'll be in my office if you need me. I have work to do." He turned and headed for the door.

"Don't work too hard," she teased, but he was already gone, slipping out of her office and closing the door silently behind him.

Lana sighed. Something was definitely wrong with her husband. He'd been like this for several weeks now and Lana was determined to find out what was bothering him.

Her mind made up, the young brunette settled back into her chair and returned to the task at hand.

Mark Sanderson stepped into the high-rise apartment with increasing trepidation. Nervously shifting the backpack on his left shoulder he followed David through into what he assumed was the living area; a luxuriously decorated room that screamed money with its warm colours, low lighting and expensive-looking furniture. Mark spotted the hi-tech entertainment system immediately and grinned despite himself. This guy was impressive. He'd been expecting a low-maintenance studio apartment like Chloe's but so far there was nothing low-maintenance about David's place.

He followed the older man through the lounge into an adjacent room, which was half the size and decorated even more cosily than the first. It was not so much a room as an alcove, with rich, silk throws covering the floor and large, soft cushions piled into the far corner. Bathed in the same low lighting as the lounge, the little room looked liked the perfect place to relax and the teenager found himself growing tired just looking at it.

But David was already carrying on, out of the alcove and into a small, dark hallway. The older man paused at the first door they reached and turning to look at Mark over his shoulder, he said, "The kitchen", and pushed the door open, revealing to Mark that it was, in fact, a kitchen. It was a little more modern than the rest of the apartment, with stainless steel surfaces and deep mahogany cupboards. A large, double-door fridge stood proudly in the corner and Mark had no doubt that it was probably filled with enough food to last them several months.

Past the kitchen was the dining room, which was separated with a simple, frosted glass divider. Mark noted an elegant glass dining table sitting in the centre of the room and guessed that it probably hadn't been used for a long time, if ever.

Even further past the dining room was a set of glass double doors, which Mark could see led out onto an impressive looking balcony. Though it was pitch-black outside he could still make out the terracotta slabs of the pavement and the blooming plants that lined them. The railings were even covered in crawling ivy.

"That leads right around the house," David interrupted his train of thoughts. "If you follow it round it'll take you to your room."

They didn't take the balcony way around to his room. Instead David led him out of the kitchen and further down the hall to another door, which he opened immediately, allowing Mark to step past him.

"And this is your room," he said, but Mark barely heard him. He was too busy gazing at his surroundings, taking in the large, four-poster bed, the unlit fireplace and the entertainment system in the corner. His eyes drifted to the balcony doors that David had said would be there, and with another flicker of his eyes he saw another door a few metres from his bed. He moved to peer through the open door and found an en suite bathroom waiting for him.

Grinning wildly, his earlier fears forgotten in the wake of his excitement, Mark turned to look at David. "How do you afford all this?" he asked breathlessly.

David, who was leaning lazily against the doorframe, smirked. "Let's just say that I get paid very well for what I do. Very well." He moved to a standing position and stepped further into the room. "Watch what you're doing in here, though. Chloe likes to crash here sometimes and I doubt she'll be pleased if you start beating all her high scores on the Playstation."

"Chloe plays the Playstation?"

"Every chance she gets." David leaned in towards him and, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, said, "Don't tell her I told you, but the little vixen is a games addict. Personally I think she's got a thing for Lara Croft, but you didn't hear that from me."

Mark laughed lightly and settled himself down on the end of the bedhis bed. His eyes swept over his surroundings again and then redirected themselves towards David.

"Does she stay here a lot?" he asked, suddenly curious to know about the young blonde who had spent so much time trying to bring down the bane of his life.

"Chloe? No, not a lot. I only got this place just over two and a half years ago. When I first met her I was living in a hellhole on the city outskirts. She lived with me for a while, then. Well, she didn't exactly live with me, more like camped out on my sofa for six weeks after she lost her apartment." Mark saw the blonde man smirk to himself but he quickly recovered and moved to fiddle with a small gadget on the cabinet near the door. "But that was the only time we really spent a lot of time together in one apartment. She stays here occasionally. Maybe once every few months when she's worn herself down and can't be bothered to travel all the way back home. She considers staying here a luxury and once you get to know Chloe you'll learn that she's not big on the luxuries. Apart from that four-poster of hers." David looked at him. "My doing, of course. The first time she stayed here was the first time she ever got more than three hours sleep so after that I surprised her ! with a foster-poster bed of her own. Not that she sleeps in it much, anyway. Chloe's like me. In bed by eleven, up by one and awake for the other twenty hours of the day."

Mark nodded. He could sense that David had a soft spot for the young blonde. It was obvious by the way he spoke about her, the way his features lit up. He and Chloe were either really good friends or David was hopelessly in love with the girl. The look on the older man's face suggested the latter and Mark knew that look well. After all, he'd worn it himself many a time. His girl, Alise, made him smile in just the same way.

Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to him and ever curious, he asked, "What happened to her, anyway? Why is she so determined to ruin Lionel Luthor?"

David stared across at him, his gaze a little darker than it had been. The look made him seem like a teenage boy himself and had Mark not known how old he truly was, he would have considered David not that much older than himself.

"That's Chloe's story to tell. I'm sure she'll share it if you ask her."

"Right," Mark said, smiling slightly. Not knowing what else to say he went back to studying his surroundings, noticing small things he had not noticed before. Like the small device attached to the wire of the phone beside his bed. A scrambler, he guessed. So no one would be able to track David down if the line was bugged.

What kind of job did David have, exactly? he thought, puzzled. Obviously a dangerous one if the scrambler was any indication. Mark had yet to hear the finer details of David's involvement in the mission and by now he had a strong sense that the man was a vital part of the operation. People, most probably Lionel's people, were undoubtedly trying to track him down, trying to discover who, exactly, was digging into Lionel's life. No wonder David lived at the top of his building with high-security surveillance constantly keeping an eye out for any intruders.

It must be a shitty way to live, Mark thought. Having to watch your back twenty-four-seven, waking up every morning in fear that the day might be your last. I could never live like that.

And then, suddenly, Mark realised with disturbing clarity that he did live like that. He and his mother had lived in fear for nearly three years, too afraid to truly live in case they stepped out of line and upset Lionel Luthor himself. They hadn't been living, he knew now, they had simply been existing, waiting for the day that Lionel would shoot them down and end their misery.

And now? Now it was finally going to end. Or he hoped it was. Chloe and David were going to bring Lionel down to his knees and make sure that the bastard would not have the chance to hurt anyone ever again, he and his mother included. But though he felt a small slither of elation at the thought, Mark couldn't help but feel that he was trading one dangerous life for another. He was still under risk of being discovered, even more so than he had been. Now there was an even greater chance, a greater possibility, that he would die for the sake of this mission. The thought made Mark shiver. He clamped his eyes shut and prayed.

"How about we go eat?" David suddenly suggested, tearing Mark from his thoughts again. He peered up at the older man and nodded gently, reluctantly rising from the bed. With one final glance towards the phone he followed David to the kitchen, all the while asking himself what he'd gotten himself into.

By the following morning Lex had a full report on Chloe Sullivan and her previous history waiting for him on his desk. The previous evenings search had not provided him with much information on the young blonde; a few, typical statistics, birth records, high school grades etc. Normal, every day things that Lex already knew or wasn't particularly interested in. The same evening he'd asked one of his men to find out as much as he could about Chloe Sullivan and Lex was impressed that the man had pulled through so quickly.

Settling himself down into his high-back leather chair, the young Luthor ignored the usual feeling of deja vu he experienced whenever he found himself in this position (it reminded him of his office back home, when he would relax in the same chair and read over the reports for the plant and the Talon) and opened the thinner-than-expected file on Chloe Sullivan. Sipping slowly on his coffee, Lex began to read.


	4. Donnie's

****

Part I  
Chapter Four: Donnie's

It was Saturday morning, which meant it was time for work.

Groggily Chloe rose from her bed having only managed to catch a few hours sleep, and threw herself towards the shower.

Chloe _hated_ weekends. She also hated her job; waitressing for a ridiculous $3.00 an hour for eight hours at a time, four, torturous days a week. She didn't have to work, she knew, but she chose to for a number of reasons. One, it made her feel a little less guilty that David was financing most of their little mission and though $400 a month was nothing compared to the money he pulled, it allowed her the small amount of independence she'd grown accustomed to. Chloe was happy knowing that she could at least afford to support herself and pay the rent.

She'd landed the job at Donnie's Diner during her first few weeks in Metropolis. Lex's money had run out faster than she'd anticipated and with no means of paying her rent for the previous apartment she had lived in, she'd been forced to find alternative means. The job at Donnie's hadn't landed in her lap straight away and after finding no job that paid enough, Chloe had shamefully resorted to the last form of income there was: prostitution.

It hadn't been for long and there really hadn't been that many men. Still unwilling to parade along the streets of Metropolis, Chloe had adorned herself in the few nice clothes she'd still owned, and trailed her way through bars and clubs, enticing young (and sometimes old) men with her beautiful, seventeen-year-old body. Then she had brought them back to her apartment, done what had been required of her and then cried herself to sleep, $60 richer but nevertheless more hollow than she had been the previous night. 

It had been dark, degrading existence and one that had thankfully only lasted three weeks. She had landed her job at Donnie's during her sixth week in Metropolis and by then she had already been forced to sell her laptop, which she had traded in for a low grade PC and an extra bit of cash to pay her rent and support her little mission that had then been under constant risk of falling through due to lack of finances.

Back then she had been working full-time at Donnie's, seven days a week, eight hours a day, sometimes even ten. Three weeks later she had met David. A month later she had lost her apartment and had been forced to stay with David in his small, one-bedroom apartment for six weeks, most of which she'd spent camping out on his sofa. By then she and David had become fast friends and it had been the hacker who had found her new apartment. This apartment. With more money than he knew what to do with (she'd once asked David why he lived in such a shithole if he had so much money in his pockets but he'd simply replied that he was too lazy to move elsewhere for the time being. A month later he'd moved into an apartment so lavish it had to have been a close mimic of The Ritz itself) David had acquired for her a top-of-the-range computer system with every gadget and technological device she would ever possibly need. With six weeks worth of wages she'd rented out her new apartment, settled herself in and hadn't moved since. And it was all down to David.

Chloe shuddered at the thought of what might have happened to her if she had never met the hacker. Fortunately she had and now, even though she wasn't living the life of Riley like David was, she was living quite comfortably. Though she knew her dreams of becoming a reporter had long since been destroyed, she'd still discovered that she could also make a fair wage by writing freelance. Occasionally, when she got the time, Chloe would send in articles and columns to numerous newspapers and magazines, under a different alias, of course, which would often bring in a nice tidy sum that was kept aside for emergencies. The only people who knew she wrote them were David and Perry White, who was now the leading editor at the Daily Planet. He only printed her work occasionally, though, because despite his change in status, Perry was still carefully watched by Lionel and his people, as was the paper itself. Lionel already knew her work from the columns she had written as a teenager and it would not take the eldest Luthor long to notice her work if it was printed regularly. Perry may have felt secure in his position as editor due to the uncompromising evidence he had against Lionel, but there was always a chance that Lionel would go back on his word if he knew Perry was catering to a woman he'd recently destroyed.

So Perry very rarely printed her work and only a number of select newspapers were often willing to accept work from an unknown source. But the few pieces that she did manage to get published provided her with enough financial backup in case her other sources happened to dry up. She was also working less hours at Donnie's now, meaning that if the diner were ever forced to let someone go, their first choice would be part-timers like her. Not that it was a problem right now but Chloe could never be too careful. After all, one never knew what the future would bring.

With her eyes closed, the blonde allowed the warm spray of the shower to ease the ache from her tired muscles. Twenty minutes later she reluctantly left the small cubicle and dried herself off, grabbing her uniform from the closet as she towel-dried her hair. She sighed heavily and threw the uniform on her bed and moved over to the cordless phone. Punching in a long-since memorised number, she brought the handset to her ear.

"Good morning, Chloe," David chimed into the phone after his caller ID had informed him exactly who was calling.

"Fuck off."

"Didn't we go through this yesterday morning?"

David heard Chloe huffing over the phone. "My life sucks, David. My life _sucks_."

"At work this morning?" he asked with a smirk, knowing full well that she was. Oh, how he loved winding her up.

"Yes," she grumbled tightly, "I am. Hence the sucking of my life."

"The sucking of your life?" David mimicked playfully. "Are you sure journalism is your forte?"

"Shut it, stud or I'll have Mae flame-grill your ass."

David chuckled at the sound of his former girlfriend's name and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah," he said, smiling.

"How's Mark?" she asked in a soft voice. "Still shaken up?"

The hacker turned to the boy in question, who was currently engrossed in a computer game. Grinning to himself David turned back to the window and stared out at the Metropolis landscape before him.

"He's doing okay," he answered truthfully. "He didn't sleep much last night but that's to be expected. I'm trying to keep him entertained, keep his mind off the whole thing."

She was silent for a second and he assumed that she was nodding to herself the way she always did when she was on the phone. A moment later he heard her mumble, "mmmhmm", having finally realising that David couldn't see her nodding. He laughed to himself, finding it both strange and comforting how he knew this girl so well.

Brushing the thought aside, he said, "I'm gonna try and follow up one of the leads today. From what Mark's told us, Dana's sister is still out there. If we can find her then we'll have enough to bring Lionel down."

"How can you know that for sure?" Chloe countered. "Lionel's probably got her locked up somewhere, my guess is one of his labs. And let's say we do manage to spring her free. Whose gonna believe us? Whose gonna believe that Lionel Luthor used meteor rocks to clone Dana Leigh and then purposely blew up his own lab to cover his tracks? No one in their right mind would believe it, David. Never mind the authorities." 

"You're forgetting the fact that Lionel had the lab cleared out before it blew, including Dana and her sister. Mark did say that his brother was one of the technician's who helped move the girls. It's funny how he died so tragically after being privy to one of the most dangerous and unethical projects under Lionel's tail." He paused and then added, "You gotta admit, Chloe, there's something dodgy about the whole thing. Why kill twenty-three people for the sake of one project if it wasn't something he wanted to keep to himself? Lionel knows it could ruin him and now so do we. I think it's worth a shot. After all, what have we got to lose?"

He heard Chloe sigh. "You're right," she finally said, "we need to check this out, see what Lionel's up to. I also want to know why he bothered letting Dana go. After having her caged up for so long, why let her back out into the world? Wouldn't it have been easier just to kill her?"

"He did kill her, Chloe," he reminded her gently.

"Yeah, but that was because he didn't want us getting a hold of her. She'd been living on the outside for two years before then, according to Mark."

David had to admit, it was a little strange. After all, Lionel had kept Dana locked up in a lab for several years, having stolen her away from her home in Atlanta. And then, just before the lab explosion three years ago she'd been released back into the outside world. According to what Mark's brother, Daniel, had told him, they had provided her with a new identity, an apartment and enough money to live comfortably on. But why? Why go to all that bother for a girl that everyone thought had already died? And if she was so important that they felt the need to integrate her back into everyday society, why have her killed three years later?

There were a lot of unanswered questions and David was determined to find the answers. And by the sounds of it, so was Chloe.

"Look, I'm gonna leave Mark here while I track this lead down. Can you come here when you've finished work? Make sure he's okay?"

"Yeah, no problem," Chloe said.

"Good. Now get your ass to work, soldier."

Chloe moaned dramatically. "Slave-driver!" she cried. "You can't get rid of me fast enough, can you!"

"Bye, Chloe," David laughed into the phone.

"Sllllllaaaaavveeee-drrriiiv--"

He hung up, chuckling to himself. Shaking his head he replaced the handset and turned towards his charge.

"Mark?"

"Mmmm?" the teenager responded absently, eyes firmly glued to the screen in front of him.

"I have to go out for a while. You gonna be okay here?"

"Uhhhhhhuuhhhhh," Mark drawled.

"Remember not to use the phone while I'm not here. If someone phones make sure you check the caller ID first and if it's someone you don't recognise, don't answer it. Chloe'll be here to check on you later."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Mark," David said firmly, drawing the boy's attention away from the screen. "Don't answer the phone and don't answer the door. Chloe has her own key so she'll let herself in."

The teenager nodded timidly and said again, "okay."

David smiled reassuringly at him. "Right, I'll be back later. There's plenty of food in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks, David," Mark said softly. "For everything."

The hacker nodded at the boy's sincerity and replied, "No problem." With that he grabbed his keys from the small table beside the sofa and slipped quietly out of the apartment, locking the door behind him.

That afternoon found Lex Luthor standing outside Chloe's apartment. Rain pouring down in heavy sheets against the pavement, the young billionaire peered up at the two storey building before him, adorned in his traditional black raincoat and carrying a large, black umbrella to protect himself against the harsh weather. Stepping forward he pressed the buzzer for the second floor apartment; the apartment he had been told belonged to a twenty-year-old Chloe Sullivan.

The report he'd read that morning had been less insightful than he'd hoped. The only information his man had been able to salvage had been a brief record on Chloe's high school years (she'd passed her finals with flying colours, apparently), an employment history regarding her short time with the Daily Planet (he never did find out how Chloe had managed to become the youngest reporter in Daily Planet history, but at the time it had been no concern of his), plus several clippings of her past columns (which, he had to admit, were quite sharp for a then sixteen-year-old girl), and an address.

Which had led him here, to the outskirts of Metropolis. It was the last place he'd ever expected to find Chloe Sullivan and he himself had been surprised at how easy it had been to track her down. Clark had never managed to track her down the occasional times he had tried a few years ago. Chloe had obviously had the smarts to cover her tracks or she'd been living under a different name. Now, though, according to the report Lex had received, the apartment she apparently occupied had her name on the lease.

Probably thought there was no point in hiding anymore, he thought. He assumed that Chloe had already turned eighteen at that point and by then the authorities would have been unable to contain her, as well as anybody else. After all, she had just turned seventeen when she'd fled Smallville. She'd only needed to disappear for a year before she was legally an adult and therefore able to look after herself. And it seemed that Chloe had managed to do just that, though how well she was actually looking after herself was questionable by the looks of this place.

When no one answered, Lex pressed the buzzer again. He waited a few seconds. Still no answer. Concluding that Chloe was in fact not home, Lex grudgingly turned around and headed back for the car. He was just about to slide into the warmth of the limousine when he heard the clicking of a door opening behind him and a loud, strong voice calling to him over the harsh pounding of the rain.

"Hey!" someone shouted, drawing his attention towards a small, round woman with fiery red hair. "You lookin' for the blonde upstairs?" she asked, unwilling to step out into the cold weather and remaining where she was beneath the small roof that hung over the doorway.

Squinting his eyes against the droplets coating his face, he headed back towards the woman. "I'm looking for Chloe Sullivan!" he replied loudly so his voice could be heard over the din. "Does she live here?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, "she lives here. Workin' 'til six, though." The woman glanced past him, towards the black limousine that was still waiting for him. With a tilt of her head, she said, "Whose askin', anyway? I'll let the pixie know when she gets home."

Lex trusted this woman as far as he could throw her and by the look of her short, stout legs and heavy arms, he guessed it wouldn't be that far. Changing tactics, he asked, "Can you tell me where she works? It's important that I speak with her."

The woman seemed to be contemplating his request for a second, looking for all the world as if he'd just asked her to spit-shine his shoes. Then, with narrowed eyes, she said straightforwardly, "What's in it for me?"

Lex shook his head. This woman was unbelievable. Stepping forward he dug his hands into the pocket of his black slacks and drew out a small roll of money. He peeled off three, one-hundred dollar bills, and offered them out to the woman.

Snatching the notes with pudgy, pale fingers, the woman smiled smugly at him. "You'll find the li'l pixie at Donnie's Diner. Five blocks from here."

"Thank you," Lex replied insincerely, turning away from the small redhead, who was already heading back inside.

The young Luthor made his way back to the limousine and slipped in gracefully.

"Donnie's Diner," he ordered the driver, and then settled back into the warm, leather seats. This was going to be interesting.

"Can you believe him?" an indignant voice sounded behind her, drawing Chloe's attention away from the plates of food she was carrying. Tilting her head she turned to see one of her fellow work mates pointing towards her boss with a hooked thumb and a scowl on her face.

"S'up, Cheryl?" Chloe asked, carrying on down the diner towards a table on her right. Smiling mechanically at the customers nestled into the soft, red booths, she placed their plates down and then swivelled back around towards the counter.

"Prick wants me to do overtime," the brunette waitress clarified, bending down to clear a stack of plates from a nearby table. "Says if I don't do the shift he's gonna can my ass."

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut. "Sorry, Cheryl," she apologised softly, "that's my fault. I've got a bank appointment Tuesday and it's the only time they can fit me in."

The buxom brunette shook her head. "It's not a problem, Chlo'. I don't mind covering for a friend. It's his attitude. Pisses me off."

She was, of course, talking about their boss, Donnie, who was currently shouting orders out to the four waitresses who were on the floor today. He was a large, bald man, surprisingly hygienic with a good set of teeth which he flashed at every opportunity. He was a hard bastard, a slave-driver in every sense of the word, but when push came to shove Donnie was a softy at heart. He was well-known for taking in runaways, single mothers struggling to get by and even the occasional prostitute who'd just had enough, and though he liked to pretend he was a mean son-of-a-bitch, the fact was that Donnie would go to hell and high water to protect his girls, as well as his two sons, Jason and Tim.

Jason, who had just hit fifteen, worked the floor along with the girls on most days except today. Saturday's he spent with his mother, Donnie's ex-wife. However, Jason's brother, Tim, who was almost eighteen, worked only on the weekends, flipping burgers and occasionally working the counter. It was well-known that Tim had a thing for Cheryl, the twenty-two-year-old single mother who had worked at Donnie's for the past three years, and even now the young boy was watching the brunette with gleaming eyes.

Poor kid, Chloe thought. He had no idea that Cheryl was sleeping with his dad.

She smiled sadly at the thought and noticing that Tim had caught her staring, she waved at him. He waved back, blushing profusely. Chloe grinned and shook her head.

"Cheryl," she said, addressing her friend. She leaned in and lowered her voice so the rest of the diner could not hear, and said, "You're only pissed at him because you're the one used to giving orders and not the other way around." The young blonde bent down and scoped up two plates in each hand. She winked mischievously at the scowling brunette on the way back to the counter, who squealed and whirled sharply to whip Chloe's ass with the dish cloth in her hand.

"You're atrocious, Sullivan!" Cheryl scolded good-naturedly. The waitress attempted to look insulted but the feigned indignation twisting her features softened into amusement, and then she was giggling, her laughter filling the small diner. Cheryl's laughter was loud and contagious, drawing the attention of everyone in the diner, but the brunette didn't care--she never did. She went about her job, cleaning tables and clearing plates, all the while shaking with silent mirth even though the joke hadn't been that funny. Still, it was the way Cheryl was. Good-natured, light-hearted and always there to plaster a smile on your face whether you wanted her to or not. She was the first person Chloe had ever confided in about her past, though she'd left out the details about Lionel and his dealings. But she knew about her father, about her escaping Smallville and even about the three, degrading weeks she'd spent selling herself for rent money.

When she'd first arrived at the diner she had kept to herself. No one had even known her last name. She was just Chloe to anyone who tried to talk to her, because back then it had been a constant struggle to keep her identity hidden, to keep _herself _hidden so the authorities wouldn't have been able to find her and take her away.

She'd known the authorities--and her friends--would stop looking eventually. Institutions like that were not concerned with little runaways that proved to be more trouble than they were worth and after a few months she'd had no doubt that they would stop looking for her.

She had no idea if they had stopped, or even if they had started in the first place, but it had been just over two years since she'd revealed to Cheryl her last name and no one had yet to come looking for her. Even her apartment was leased under her full name. So after a while Chloe had stopped caring about keeping herself hidden. By then she'd been a legal adult and therefore old enough to take care of herself. But even though she no longer kept to herself, she didn't make waves either, not willing to risk drawing attention to herself. More specifically, Lionel's attention. She knew she was in no real danger, really, because Lionel would not even consider that a young, runaway orphan might be behind his up-and-coming downfall. Chloe had the element of surprise on her side. However, she knew not to push her luck. She knew Lionel was a smart man and that if she were to do anything dramatic, he would be the first to take notice. She also knew that her association with David put her in danger, too. He was, after all, wanted by several government agencies and probably even Lionel Luthor himself.

So Chloe kept quiet. She kept her private life private and her social life never exceeded the walls of the diner and David's apartment. Most would assume it was a lonely life, and to some extent it was. Without her father Chloe had never felt more alone, yet at the same time she was content with the small circle of friends she had gained. She still had the emotional capacity to care about people, to love them and cherish them. Often she fought exceedingly hard not to let people into her life, because though she knew it was ridiculous, a small part of her still worried that one day she would lose them, too. That one day the wound would be reopened and she would not have the energy to pick herself back up again. But she also knew that without her friends, without people like David and Cheryl, she would become the one person she swore she would not become; bitter, empty and callous. She refused to let Lionel beat her in such a way and so far she had succeeded.

The few close friends she had never questioned her need for privacy, especially the select number of waitresses who worked in the diner. They each had their own secrets, their own skeletons, and most of them were too concerned with keeping their own lives private that they did not question her own need for privacy. It was the way she liked it and her friends, especially Cheryl and Donnie, respected that fact.

It had taken a long while for Chloe to get to this point. She hadn't been looking for friends when she'd first started working at the diner. Still afraid that someone might find her, Chloe was more secretive than she'd ever been. But eventually she'd warmed up to a hard-assed, soft-hearted Donnie and after working side-by-side with Cheryl for several months, the young brunette had suddenly decided to confide in Chloe about her own tragic past. It was then that Chloe had finally realised that Cheryl had the potential to be a much-needed friend in her life and from then on the two had only grown closer.

Cheryl's presence in her life was another thing she was constantly thankful for. She loved her friend intensely. However, her affection for the girl was nothing compared to the fierce love the brunette felt for Donnie. Though she did not like to admit it, Cheryl had fallen big time for their menacing boss. In fact, the pair doted on each other so much she was surprised that she was the only one who knew about their little affair.

Chloe smiled to herself as Cheryl's laughter bubbled up once more. She turned just in time to see Tina, a redheaded waitress with a body to die for, sauntering away with an empty glass in her hand. Shifting her gaze slightly, Chloe noticed that one of the male customers in the far end booth was dripping. He'd obviously gotten too frisky with the short-tempered Tina and now his two friends beside him were roaring with unadulterated laughter.

She shook her head and bent to wipe down a nearby table. Did they never learn? It was always Tina who got most of the slack due to her soft looks and highly-defined curves, yet it was Tina who was the most masculine out of all them, with her vulgar sense of humor that sometimes reminded Chloe of Mae, and a mean right hook that most often reminded her of herself.

"Clean up in aisle fuckin' nine!" she heard Tina's voice over the quiet buzz of an almost-empty diner. Soon the place would be buzzing with nine-to-five workers, looking for a quick coffee and a hearty dinner before they retired for the night to curl up with their partners in bed, or curl up alone. So she went about her job, clearing the tables and cleaning them down, ready for the five o'clock rush.

She listened with half an ear as Tina and Donnie squabbled over her behaviour (again) and then, with a loud huff, she undid her apron, and informed Donnie that she was going for a much-needed break. She was hot and achy and tired of listening to the constant arguments that filled the small diner, and Chloe had the strangest urge to stand out in the cool, refreshing rain, if only for a few minutes.

Too busy fighting with the fiery redhead Donnie did not hear her, but Chloe was already grabbing her coat and heading for the door--

which opened to reveal a smartly-dressed, somewhat soaked, Lex Luthor.


End file.
